Bill on Tobacco by Payson Sibley Wild — Read

I lit my pipe, an' set with Bill a spell / Out on the porch. The sun hed jes' went down; / The hens an' chickens, 'thout no 'parent aim, / Was gravitatin' towards the hen-house door; / The poults was floppin' int' the apple tree, / An' Zony come acrost the dewy yard / A-bringin' in the evenin' mess o' milk. / 'Twas peaceful like, an' I was tuckered out, / An' thet thar corn-cob tasted pow'ful good. / I hedn't hed a smoke sence noon, an' co'se / I'd be'n a-cravin' on't sence supper's over, / An' kind o' grudged ter hev ter gwout an' feed / The colts 'fore settin' down an' lightin' up. / But now the work was done, an' thar I was / Ez comf'tabul an' ca'm ez I could be, / Suckin' an' blowin' great big gobs o' smoke, / An' strangulatin' three four hundred flies / Thet got the'rsel's all settled fer the night. / Bill picked 'is teeth ez quiet ez a lamb, / An' didn't make no sound, 'cept 'cazhnully, / When one my puffs would veer agin 'is face, / He'd cough an' bresh the smoke off with 'is hand. / I'd never saw Bill smoke, or chaw, or "dip," / Sence I hed knowed 'im, tho' I'd offen wondered / Jes' why it was thet he denied hisself / About the bigges' comfort they is goin'.

I blowed a bunch o' smoke rings threw the screen, / An' watched 'em melt away in bluish mist. / Then I inhaled, an' filled my chist up full / Till I could feel the nickerteen soak in / Clean to my toes, an' brace me up all over. / I fairly wallered in thet smoke, by jing! / At last-'twas gittin' right smart darkish, 'n' we / Could hear the snipe a-callin' in the fiel', / An' all the western sky was brownish pink- / Bill ups an' sez-an' I could see 'is grin- / "Pears like y'er' gittin' sight o' comfort out / O' thet thar shag, an' I aint blamin' on ye, / Tho' onct 'n a while it sort o' turns my stummick. / What is't, ‘_Farmer's Delight_'? " "Nope, ‘_Dago's Joy_", / I sez, a-rammin' in another charge. / I got it goin', an' after while he sez: / "Looks like it might be; 'f yew kin smoke thet stuff, / I reckin yew're a smoker, an' would stand / Fer ennything from burdock ter hoss-redish, / Or tan-bark, blacksmith's parin's, stable sweepin's, / An' sich like stuff they put in them thar kind / O' boxes 't yew got thar. " "Aw, quit yer josh," / I sez, "I've smoked all them one time or 'nother, / An' know the diff'runce. This 'ere smoke is reel / Terbacker; guess I know. " "Terbacker nuthin", / Sez 'e; "smells more ter me like some ol' buf'- / Lo robe hed ketched afire. " An' then 'e laffed.